


The Power of a Picture

by KingOfShrapnel



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen, anxiety attack, fear of deep water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5008711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfShrapnel/pseuds/KingOfShrapnel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just a picture it’s just a picture it’s just a picture goddammit it’s just a fucking picture.</p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>Pete has an anxiety attack and avoids the guys, trying to calm down. They care more than he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of a Picture

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, a fic written before midnight and actually took me more than an hour to write. And written right when the idea came to me, not after a couple days of delaying. Folks, this is a first for me. 
> 
> Again, I don't know the guys as well as most of you probably do since I'm really new to the bandom.

_It’s just a picture it’s just a picture it’s just a picture goddammit it’s just a fucking picture._

 

He gave three quick swipes to the trackpad on his laptop, forcing the screen to scroll to the bottom of the website, hiding the photo from view. It didn’t help. He’d already seen it and had it imprinted in his head. Trying to think of anything else wasn’t helping, his gut felt like it was twisting around, like it was a sopping wet towel being wrung out. 

 

Triggered by a drawing of an underwater scene. A fucking _drawing_. Not even an actual photo. The drawing was titled _Her Last Breath_ and showed what to others would probably be a peaceful scene of underwater ruins, a young woman floating in the upper left hand corner of the photo, gazing down at the ruins. Below her swam a shark, apparently not interested in her, swimming away.

 

Peaceful to others, traumatizing to him.

 

He placed his elbows on the table, scrubbing his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes as they threatened to start watering. He pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes, fingers crisscrossed across his forehead and sat like that for a minute, breathing deeply to keep himself from hyperventilating.

 

_God, I almost wish I had a reason for this fear._

 

He wasn’t even sure when it had started. He remembered a time from his childhood when he’d been riding on an inner tube towed behind a boat on a lake. Him and his friend clung on tight as his friends dad gave them a wild ride. One particularly tight corner set the tube up on end, sending the two boys sailing through the air and into the water. He’d hit the unforgiving water face down, feeling like he’d face planted into cement before sinking below the surface. The life jacket he was wearing did it’s job and buoyed him upwards again. As soon as oxygen made contact with his lungs again he had started screaming. His friend had grabbed onto his vest and tried to avoid his flailing arms, yelling for his dad to _hurry up and turn the boat around, I think he’s in shock!_ It took a full minute for the boat to come around and his friends dad to yank him out of the water and he screamed the entire time.

 

He didn’t remember any other specific times water freaked him out until he was in his early twenty’s and then even aquariums started making him hyperventilate. And it wasn’t because of the creatures. Not the often seen ones anyways, those nasty ones that live in the deepest portions of the oceans were terrifying, but sharks and fish? No biggie, whatever. Dark water? No fricking way man, that is a no go. Even drowning wasn’t that scary. Sounded kind of peaceful actually. 

 

He had woken up one night having a nightmare about falling into the ocean, not particularly far from shore, but his imagination had supplied the fact that not even 20 feet from the beach the ocean floored dropped straight down. The fathomless depths made him have an anxiety attack in his dream, and upon entering wakefulness the attack continued. His lungs had been grasping at the air that was so plentiful around him, but it might as well have been honey for how easy it was to inhale. When he was finally breathing normally he had nearly thrown up.

 

Speaking of. He dropped his head on the desk and pressed his thumb to the power switch, holding it long enough that the laptop got the message and cancelled out of it’s “Are you sure?” prompts and shutting itself off.He sat there, breathing deeply and as steadily as he could for another five minutes, trying to settle his stomach. 

 

_I need a distraction, I need.. something. Need to do something._

 

He shot to his feet and slammed the lid of the laptop harder than necessary. He stalked down the hallway, obsessively doing anything he could with his hands to distract himself. Scrubbing them through his hair, over his face again, flexing his fingers back and forth in an attempt to crack them, dragging his hands through his hair again and scratching the back of his head with the tips of his fingers. 

 

His destination was the recording studio where his bass was, but to get there he had to walk through the living room. He froze in the hallway when he realized Patrick was reclined on the couch, his guitar slung across his stomach, tapping his thumb in a drum beat on the body of the guitar and humming a tune. 

 

He ducked back down the hallway, anxiously rubbing at his head again. _Dammit, I don’t want anyone to see me like this, it’s so dumb, I’m being dumb, I don’t have a reason to be freaking out, it’s a fucking DRAWING of all things, and a baseless fear too, I need to calm down, why can’t I calm down, no one should see me like this, I’m going to scream or pass out if I don’t calm down, come on brain, stop it._ He paced back and forth down a small stretch of the hallway, barely taking two steps in either direction before stopping himself like he was about to run into a wall and whirling around again. He could hear whistling in the kitchen, getting closer as whoever it was started towards the hallway he was currently hiding in. 

 

_Just go!_ he internally yelled at himself. He ducked his head and charged into the living room, determined not to make eye contact with Patrick, tilting his head down and to the right, looking away from the singer. He unconsciously raised his left hand, rubbing the back of his head again in such a way that his bicep and forearm obstructed most of his face from Patricks view.

 

“Pete?” Patrick half sat up as the bassist bolted past him. “You ok, man?”

 

Pete nearly ran face first into the door in his attempt to get through it as quickly as possible. He opened it as little as possible while still being able to squeeze through. He sagged against the other side of the door, trying to catch his breath yet again. If he wasn’t concentrating on breathing so much he might’ve laughed. It was kind of ironic that he was having an anxiety attack about not wanting anyone to see him have an anxiety attack. 

 

_Ugh, why is my brain so messed up. Pull yourself together man!_  

 

A slight knock sounded on the door. He was sure it was Patrick. Maybe Andy, if he was the one that had been coming out of the kitchen. The soundproofing in the studio stopped any sound from coming in or out, so he couldn’t hear if they called his name.

 

Even though no one outside the room would be able to hear him, he still grabbed his headphones off the shelf and plugged them into his amp, choosing to completely isolate himself, pulling one of the stools out of the middle of the room and putting himself more or less facing the wall with most of the room behind him. 

 

And he played.

 

He didn’t know exactly what time the anxiety attack had started, but the next time he looked up at the clock on the wall, four hours had passed since he had last checked the time before it had started. It took over three hours for him to calm down and that was through the help of music. He sighed. _What am I going to tell the guys. They’re going to think I’m nuts or something._  

 

He gently placed the bass back in its stand and unplugged the headphones, methodically coiling up the cord in an attempt to kill more time before he had to face the guys. He stood and turned to place the headphones on the shelf again. He accidentally hip-checked one of the other stools that had not been there when he started playing, it toppled over and he grasped the go-mug that had been balanced on top of it before it hit the floor. The mug was black with white sugar skulls which he vaguely recognized as one of Joe’s. He popped the top and took a sniff. Even though he was alone, he couldn’t help letting his eyes roll back in a display of how amazing it smelled. His favorite tea from Andy’s collection. He sat on his stool again, sipping at the still warm liquid. He snapped the lid shut again to keep it warm and finished putting away the headphones. 

 

The stool was still on the ground where it had fallen, and again in an attempt to kill time, he bent to pick it up and return both stools to their original positions. A slip of blue note pad paper on the ground caught his eye and he picked it up. He smiled to himself as he read the note scrawled in Patrick’s handwriting. 

 

_If you need anyone to talk to, we’re each here for ya buddy :)_

 

His eyes started to water again as he folded the note and slid it into his pocket. He wasn’t quiet ready to open up about this silly fear, but maybe he’d try human contact the next time he had an attack. After all, these guys really did care for him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what kind of fears Pete actually has in real life, but I had a small anxiety attack like this this evening and had the idea to kinda.. 'project' onto him, I guess you could say. 
> 
> And now my head really hurts so I'm going to go sleep.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!


End file.
